Retribution
by bansealgaire
Summary: Harleen Quinzel is in She has resolved to forget the Joker, giving into her medication, trying to become Is it really her choice? Set in Nolan's world, but after the events of Mad Rated for dark Trigger warning:
1. Chapter 1

"Well, I must say, Ms Quinzel, I am impressed.' Dr Leland, my current psychologist smiled, staring at me over her clipboard. I smiled back, genuinely, of course.

"Thanks, Doc. I'd like to think I got all the circus tricks out of my system by now." I sat on the stereotypical couch in Leland's office, with my arms relaxed by my sides.

"You've made astonishing progress in your time here." The Doc mused. It had been two years since I'd had my ass dumped back here in Arkham. When I was thrown out the window, Bats had picked me up and dropped me in for a scheduled appointment. Ever since then, I'd been the hot topic: The Clown Prince's Harlequin. A true head case up for grabs. It wasn't pleasant, seeing the way they fought over who got to examine me first, but I was thankful that Doctor Leland had won. We had known each other before, well, before _he _took over my mind. She had been my mentor, almost, when I was interning here. If I'd stayed longer, we may have even been friends. There was no chance of it now, but she had always been sincere, so she was my preferred head case specialist. She continued on. "You've managed to drop that ridiculous accent, lost the make up, and even seen the light on the Jo-"

"Don't!" I yelled. I gripped the sides of the couch, my knuckles turning white, before regaining my composure. "Excuse me." I sighed, "it's just that we've been through that issue, and I'd like to not revisit that again." I looked away. I wouldn't even let myself think the name, not that you could call it a name. A title, rather. A status. In my mind, _He_, was as good an alias as _he _was going to get.

The Doc looked startled, but sympathy flooded her face.

"Of course, Ms Quinzel. I understand." She leafed through her notes. "I do have good news though. At this rate, once you speak with a few of the other Doctor's here, you should be released in a month or so." She smiled happily at me, and I couldn't help but return it.

Leaving.

Freedom.

"That's amazing, Doc!" An old habit resurfaced, and I clapped my hands in delight before I could stop myself. Luckily, the Doc didn't seem to notice, and left it unchecked.

"I always knew you were sane, Ms Quinzel." She looked me dead in the eye. I stared right back. It had become my thing. When I first came in, all broken and bruised, I wouldn't look at anyone. I stayed silent in my cell, curled up in the corner. Even Red, or Poison Ivy as she preferred others to call her, couldn't get anything out of me. All I could do was stare at the vase and note sitting on the other side of the room. Until I snapped. I got up, wrapped my hand around the cool glass, and hurled it at the plexiglass between me and the viewing corridor. Alarms blared, and people rushed in. Two men grabbed my arms and led me back to my bed. I went happily, my face bright with a smile that hadn't been seen here in years. I had broken free. I'd won the struggle for my sanity.

"If you don't mind, Doc, I'd like to go back to my cell for a while. Slightly tired, you know?" I gave her a weary smile, and she nodded in response.

"I'll call your guards." She pushed a button on the side of her desk, and a buzzer rang shrill as the door opened. Two large men came and stood by my sides. I didn't need to be dragged anymore, I'd proven myself better than that.

Leland stood up and walked to the door and held it open. "Really, Harley," she smiled softly, using my first name, "I'm so proud." She stepped aside, and I walked passed her, all the while with a smile of my own on my face.

I was getting out.

_2 months later_

"I'm afraid we can't return any of your possessions that you came in with," sighed the Warden. Quincy Sharp had never been the brightest man, but he did his best. I couldn't help by laugh.

"I didn't expect you to, what with most of them being weapons banned in at lest 30 states." He gave me a queer look, before handing me a set of clean clothes. I looked at the jeans and t shirt. Nothing fancy, but it was gucci to a woman who'd been stuck in Arkham standard uniform for two and a half years. I grinned, and thanked him, before turning to change in the bathroom.

It was my last day in this asylum, for there was no other word for it, and I was itching to get outside again. It had been so long since I'd seen the sun without the breath of guards on my neck. I opened the door, and shrieked in surprise.

There, in the middle of the room, was the Dark Knight himself.

I stood my ground, meeting his hard eyes. I was sane. It had been proved. There was nothing he could do to keep me here. I swallowed, before mumbling a hurried "Long time no see." He looked at me for a while longer, before smirking for a fraction of a second.

"Good." His gravelly voice was loud in the small room, and he turned to face Sharp, who was sitting calmly at his desk. "She seems fine, a credit to your psychiatrists." Sharp nodded, and I glared at the Bats' ostentatious cape.

"I was always sane, Batman." I spoke defiantly, and he turned to face me again. I smiled sadly. "Certain people are just persuasive. Like politicians." Bats' face remained devoid of emotion, and I looked over at Sharp, who was scribbling in a notebook, probably just trying to look busy. When I looked back, there was no evidence of his presence left in the room. I sighed, and looked at the Warden expectantly. He got out of his chair, and walked to my side.

"Allow me to escort you out, Ms Quinzel." I smiled, and walked out through the door. We walked in silence past the staff rooms, to the front exit. It was a clear day outside, and I relished in the sunshine. i had always preferred rainy days, but when all you have is artificial lighting, you tend to miss a good conditioning UV ray.

We continued our way down to the docks, where there was a boat with more Arkham staff waiting. I turned to the Warden, and smiled once again. I had being doing that a lot lately, but who wouldn't with the taste of freedom on their tongue.

"Thank you." I said honestly, before walking on to the boat. I sat down on the side, out of the way, and the motor roared to life. As we left the island, I watched it shrink into the horizon. No longer would I be treated as though my touch was toxic. I would be among people, normal people, and no one would know of my past.

I was free.

I breathed in the smell of stale air once I reached my old apartment. The police had kept in vacant, examining everything for traces of _him_, but I had been allowed to return to it now that they had found nothing. They hadn't bothered to leave anything behind though. All of my furniture was there, but my personal items were gone. I walked over to the wardrobe beside my bed, which had been stripped of bedding. Only a few garments were left hanging, and even fewer in the drawers. My shoes were untouched. It wasn't much, but it was enough. I closed the door with a sigh, and walked into the small kitchenette. All of the glassware a crockery had been rearranged, proving that even they had been under scrutiny. I wasn't surprised. I wouldn't have trusted anything not to be a bomb. I stumbled back over to my bed, and collapsed on the bare mattress. It smelled different, had probably been tested billions of times for DNA samples, not that there would have been any apart from my own. _He_ hadn't so much as set one foot inside my apartment, no matter how much I begged. Unless it was a slap to the face, or a yank in a general direction, there was no physical contact. I knew now that I was just a toy, but back then _he_ had encompassed my world. _He_ had been terrible, and yet beautiful. The way _he_ spoke about things, the impulsive, almost childish way things had to go _his_ way, it had swallowed me up. Now that I was chewed and spat back out again, I couldn't help but grin masochistically at my own misfortune.

"I was ripe for the picking." I growled into the crook of my arm. I heaved myself up and sat in the middle of the bed, legs crossed. And then I saw it.

The small coffee table in front of the television set was bare from anything else. It was precisely in the middle, not even covered in dust, like everything else in the room was. A long stemmed, red rose in a green vase. A note was beside it.

I sate very still, not trusting my surroundings. That had not been in the room when I first came in. I looked towards my door, but it was closed. Not locked, though. I hadn't thought of it as I walked in. I started to shake. I knew there was no one in the room, I could always tell when _he_ was around, and _he_ could never stay silent for long. The mere thought of utter silence usually made _him_ erupt in cruel laughter. But that was beside the point.

I slowly got off the bed, trying not to make a noise. Walking over to the table, I lifted up the note to see a fine, elegant scrawl in purple ink.

_I knew you would find your way out. _

_Make sure you don't forget me, sweet._

_I'll be waiting,_

_J_

I dropped the card and watched it float silently to the floor. I started to shake, before I fell to the floor in a heap. I started to sob.

No.

No, no, no, no, NO.

Only one word managed to escape my lips that night.

"_J-Joker..._"


	2. Chapter 2

I stayed on the floor for hours, not letting myself think. All I could do was sob, and let the madness wash over me in unforgiving waves. I couldn't speak, and I had just enough control not to let myself scream; so only desperate, wheezing noises left my mouth. I vaguely wondered if this was what Dr. Crane's patients felt like when he administered his toxin. A thought brought on from madness, no doubt, because it was gone a moment later.

When beams of light started to shine through the blinds on my window, I began to start slowly moving again. I had stopped shaking and crying, I was just holding onto my legs, which were brought up to my chest, not looking at anything, but eyes wide open. I rose up on my hands and knees, my back cracking, before slowly rising up to my full height. I walked, with my hand on my back like an old woman, over to my bathroom. I needed a scalding hot shower, I told myself. I needed to wash away the impurity of _him._ It was only 7 am when I hopped out again, but I still felt unclean. The police hadn't even left me with any cleaning products, so all I could do was blast myself with water that made lava look luke-warm.

When I came out, I found my clothes and pulled them on, before walking over to the front door. I looked back behind me at the rose, still where I'd left it, and shuddered.

I'm not going to let this happen.

He will not win this time.

I am sane. I am sane.

Sane.

The door slammed behind me, and I made sure to lock it behind me. Not that a locked door would stop anyone, but it was more for me than _him_. I had grabbed my purse before I left, and I wandered down the staircase to the front of the building. The ATM outside was vacant, and I stocked up quickly on some cash. My accounts had been frozen whilst I was in Arkham, but now that I was out, I had full access again. I had planned on stocking up on a few personal items from the supermarket, just food, drink and soap, but then again I was never lucky.

I had just walked inside the store when the first light went out. The rest followed quickly, and cruel laughter slowly filled the dark space. Other men and women started to panic, people started screaming, before the voice spoke.

"Greetings, Gotham shoppers!" It cackled, waiting for everyone to quiet down. I backed up against the doors, which had been barricaded from the outside. I dug my nails into the skin of my palms. I knew that voice, had loved that voice. I feared that voice. "It has come to my attention that a certain person has entered our midst!" It continued, and I began to hyperventilate. No.

No, no, no, no, NO.

The Joker's voice crackled over the speakers as he let out more harsh laughter. Everything was pitch black, and my eyes were forming shapes in the darkness. I saw objects moving. People were talking in loud whispers, some were crying, others were panicking. It was all I could do to not scream. A flashlight burned into life, and I was temporarily blinded.

"Miss Harleen Quinzel..." He continued, sounding for a moment as though he were serious. "I'd like to thank you for choosing our humble grocer for your shopping needs. But then again, why wouldn't you? Our prices are to _die_ for!" And with that, gunfire rang out. People screamed, lights flashed as the gunpowder ignited, and I was completely helpless. I had no doubt that the owner of the flashlight in my face was also holding a gun, and if I moved, I would be shot with no hesitation. So I cowered. I slid down to the floor and shoved my head into my knees, and tried to block out the sounds of death. I was slowly dropping out of reality, going into shock, probably, when the gunfire stopped. All was silent, but I still didn't move. I heard movement about me, and the suddenly the flashlight burned out. Burly arms grabbed me, and soft sack was placed over my head. It was all too much. I couldn't take it anymore. And as I was lifted from the ground, my mind went blank, and I left feeling behind. The focal point of my brain was on one phrase.

Madness is like gravity. All anyone needs is a little push.

I came to in a small, shabby room. I was seated on an uncomfortable stool, with my back against the wall. I groaned, and my hand went to the back of my head.

I hadn't noticed anything happening once my mind had gone blank, but I guessed I'd been brought in a car. The crick in my neck attested to that much. My vision slowly focused as I took in my surroundings, and went rigid. There, on the other side of a desk, sat my worst nightmare.

The pale face, dark eyes and blood red grin had been burnt into my soul, but the real thing was so much worse.

"Harley..." He drawled, peeling back his lips into a smile. He got up and walked around so that he was standing in front of me. I didn't move. He reached out a hand, and ran a dirty fingernail down the side of my face. The move repulsed me. It lit me on fire. I slapped his arm away and stood up. He was taller, but I didn't care. I glared straight into his dark, soulless eyes, and I punched him square in the jaw.

Even though I hadn't fought in a while, my strength had kept up. After all, I was still a gymnast.

He fell to the floor, and started laughing in his own personal, bone chilling way. He rolled onto his stomach, and I saw that his lip was now bleeding. He got up again, and moved to pin me to the wall, but I was faster. I ran over to the other side of the room, where the door was. Me and my fucking luck, it was locked. I looked back at him, and he was standing still, watching me. His right hand twirled his small knife fondly, almost absentmindedly, as he looked over every inch of my body. There was nothing sexual in the action, it was more the way a predator surveys its prey shortly before snapping it up.

"You've never done that before..." he mused, before slowly walking forward. I backed up, putting the desk in between us. He licked the blood from his lips, and began to pace around the table. I matched his actions. Apart from that, all I did was glare. "So, Arkham's gone and labeled you sane, eh? Congratulations. Not all of us can claim such a title." He chuckled darkly, and quickly switched to the opposite direction. His arm snapped out to grab me, but missed, thankfully. He glared, before continuing his slow pace. I spoke up.

"I've out grown you, Joker." My voice was rough, but my resolve was strong. He would not win this.

"You'll never out grow me, Sweets." He snickered. "I'll always be inside your head. You love me too much to pick me out yourself." Again, he changed directions, but I saw it coming. He was tossing his knife from hand to hand, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel his gaze probing down inside me, feeling for the madness he had planted. I was gaining confidence. He still thought he had me in his grasp. Time to prove him wrong.

"Love you?" I asked incredulously, still keeping time with his movements. "What part of 'sane' do you not understand?" He quirked an eyebrow at me, before laughing at the statement. I continued "The second you threw me from that window, I've had clarity in my mind. Not only are you sadistic, beyond help AND beyond the act of love, but you aren't worth it either. So I stayed in the asylum, and I listened to my doctors. And do you know what? They were right!" I spat the last word at him, and he mockingly wiped his eye.

"Oh how heart warming. I believe you. Go on then, go home and live your life, you poor abused CHILD!" He roared the last word, and slammed his hands on the desk, and stopped moving. Faster than I thought possible, he launched himself over the desk and pressed me against the wall, one hand on my shoulder, the other with the knife against my cheek. His entire body was pressing into me, and I was forced to look directly in his eyes. I saw no remorse, no sympathy, no sanity. Only madness. "Oh you poor dear..." He tutted, and he began moving the knife over my face. Not once did he brake the skin, but the threat was clear. "How many times did you sell that story for the shrinks, hm?" He grinned, and slowly slid the blade into my mouth. I could feel it pressing into the soft tissue of my bottom lip, and I let my mouth go lax so as to not aggravate any tiny cuts. "You seem to have forgotten that I don't buy into psychology. Every part of that _science_ is biased, and you know it. All you've done is conform to the norms of society." He sighed, and thoroughly lost interest in me. He removed the blade from my mouth, and shoved me into the chair behind the desk. He sprawled on top of the desk on his back, looking at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. "You've gone and disappointed me, Harls. You aren't the girl I knew. Those quacks in coats have gone and turned you into this-" he waved his hand at me dismissively "-this wasted potential that's going to sit in a desk job for the rest of her life." I made to move from the chair, and his hand came crashing down on my shoulder. "Stay." He growled.

"No." I said simply, and yanked his hand out and downwards. There was a sickening pop as his arm dislocated from the socket, and he howled in a mixture of pain and laughter. I leaped out of the chair, and started to throw myself at the locked door. The damn thing would not budge. I swirled back to se the Joker nursing his arm, grinning at me.

"I wonder how many people would see dislocating someone's shoulder as sane..." he mused, before grabbing his arm and popping the joint back into place. I knew it wouldn't stop him for long. The Joker had a way of enjoying physical pain.

He got up and paced slowly towards me again. "Come on, Sweets... why not give in to the madness swelling up inside you?" He laughed maniacally, before he grabbed my arms, and began to swing me around the room. "Dance with me! Be mad with me!" He roared, as he swung me around in a circle.

"NO!" I screamed, and jumped up to throw my legs in his chest. He fell backwards, but never let go of my arms, so I went down with him. I was on top, so when he released my arms, I swung another fist into his face. He caught my fist, and reached up to grab a chunk of my hair, which he yanked down to the left.

We rolled over so that he was on top of me, crushing me into the ground. I didn't need to look down to know that his knife was back against my throat. He was breathing hard, as was I, and he began laughing madly again.

"Now, THAT was fun!" He growled. He was sweating, and his makeup was running into the grooves on his skin. He looked down at me with those dark eyes, and instantly I knew it wouldn't be quick. He was going to destroy me slowly, from the mind outwards, before he so much as made to hurt me physically.

I was a fool.

How I ever thought I could go back to a normal life was beyond me.

I would never be free.

He must have seen the realisation in my eyes, because at that moment, he doubled over, screaming at the top of his lungs that laughter that froze the blood in my veins.

I would always be the Clown Prince's Harlequin. Always.


	3. Chapter 3

I was mad.

Not in the emotional sense, but in the state of mind. It was amazing, how quickly I could succumb to his personality. He had kept my spare costume, how sweet of him, so I was able to go back to old times straight away.

He told me that I was lucky. He said that he couldn't mark my face, because he needed someone on the outside. Apart from that, I was still his toy.

All this was in the letter that was left in my apartment with my costume. I knew he would expect me to come when he called, and I knew I would.

What else did I have to live for, anyway? No family, no friends, nothing keeping me.

I knew I was too cowardly for suicide. The fact that I'd considered it was a tribute to the madness he'd brought out in me again. Playing his little hench girl was my only purpose now. So I would throw myself into the madness. I would become his Harlequin, and I would learn to believe him.

But I would not love him.

That was my one resolve in the insane mess inside my head. He not be my everything, he would not be my love, and there was no fucking way he'd be my 'puddin''. I grimaced at that thought, disturbed and ashamed of the way I'd acted. But I let it go, I wouldn't dwell on the past. I'd only become depressed, anyway. I was orphaned as a child my parents were 16 and didn't want a kid, so I was tossed into an orphanage until I turned 18. Then I studied psychology. I recognise now that it was because I wanted to know why my parents had thrown their own child away, what could make them stop loving me. Childhood trauma could be my excuse for going back to the Joker when my ass got thrown back in Arkham. I needed familiarity, and he provided it. That's all it was.

That night, I received a knock on my door. I sighed, knowing I was being summoned. I grabbed the costume and stuffed it into a duffel bag I had picked up in the markets, and wandered to the front door. A burly man blocked out the setting sun, and simply grunted at me before he turned around. There was a car waiting, with it's license plate splattered with mud to keep the numbers hidden.

Inside the car were more men, who leered at me with lustful glances. I wondered how long it had been since any of them had seen a woman. I glared back, and when one tried to slide his hand up my thigh, I'm pretty sure I broke his finger. None of them tried after that.

I was still higher up in the food chain than these guys. They were paid chumps who'd only seen the Joker on TV, given directions via the phone. I knew his face, his voice, and (sadly enough) his mind.

And they knew I did, so when I punched another for calling me a dead weight bitch, none of them fought back.

"Just remember who's dead weight bitch I am, gorgeous." I sighed, as the man in the front seat nursed his nose, grumbling obscenities into his hands.

As we pulled onto the freeway, a black sack was placed over my head. I didn't struggle, I knew I wouldn't win. Secrets as important as location weren't to be trusted with a ditzy blonde. I sighed, and closed my eyes, trying to block out the sound of congestion. I was doing that a lot lately, trying to block out reality. There was no point in focusing on it when there was only pain.

I felt the car grind to a halt, and the sack was pulled off of my head. We were outside a dilapidated warehouse, and I had two hands slapped on my shoulders to march me inside. The innards of the factory were just what I had expected: filled with machines and explosives. And noise. Lots of noise.

"The Boss is upstairs in his office. He's expecting you." The thug who's finger I'd broken nodded to a rusty staircase leading up to a small room that overlooked the entire factory. I made my way over to the stairs, wincing the way they shuddered beneath me. Not the most inspiring feeling in the world, having your support rattle.

I knocked on the door three times, and was answered with a grunt. I stepped inside to see the same shabby room I had woken up in days before. He was sitting at this desk, war paint in place, and feet up on the edge of the desk. His hands were behind his head, and looked completely at ease. Just looking at him made my stomach lurch, the way he flitted his tongue between his lips while smiling at me casually, if anyone can look casual with that much makeup caked on their face. He got up, and instead of offering me a chair, shoved me down onto the stool in front of his desk.

"Always the gentleman, aren't we?" I snorted. He sniggered at that, and sat down in his own chair.

"Would you have accepted it?" He asked. I glared. "There's your answer. Now," he opened a drawer on his right, and pulled out a file. He handed it to me. "I have a job for you." I opened the file, and a picture of a man fell out, as well as a page of information. I glanced at the name: Salvatore Maroni.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked, and slid the photo towards him. He slid it back.

"As I'm sure you know, this is Salvatore Maroni." He got up and started to pace the room. "I do not have the best relationship with the mob at the moment, and I don't plan to make it any better for that mater." That last comment made himself crack up, so I waited for him to continue. Once he finished slapping his knee in delight, he continued pacing. "He and his goons will be having a little, shall we say, meet and greet tomorrow evening, and have hired a little rendezvous with a few certain women. It's Maroni's birthday, you see..." I groaned. I didn't like where this was going. He grinned at my expression. "That's right, Sweets. If things go the way they should, Maroni will get one explosion of a lap dance." He cackled off again, slamming the point of the knife that had appeared in his hand in the middle of the table. I could see many marks like it.

I didn't say anything. I knew from experience that interrupting him meant punishment. The last guy who interrupted him had had his death shown live on TV, interrupting the daily news report, of course. A small sense of irony there. Moral of the story: don't talk during the news. "You'll come out with the other girls, and when it's the bosses turn, all you do is slip this in his pocket." He tossed a small red ball my way, and when I looked at it closer, I noticed it was a fake clown nose. I sensed he was done talking, so I quirked an eyebrow.

"Am I sensing a slight theme here?" I asked, holding up the clown nose. A small light blinked in it's depths - great, here I was, getting my prints on a bomb. Super.

"You got a problem with a bit of laughter?" He asked, all joking gone from his tone. I sighed.

"No, I have a problem dressing up as a hooker and dancing for a dirty old man."

"The correct term is exotic dancer. I'm telling you to excite him, not fuck him." I laughed at that.

"Either way, he's getting fucked." I said, gesturing towards the small nose on the table. His face grew emotionless, and he got up from his chair. Walking towards me, he grabbed my chin and forced me to look up at him. I made to swipe at his arm, but he grabbed it with his empty hand. He stared deep into my eyes, a smirk playing on his lips, and eventually I resolved to kick him in the shin. His response was to slap me. Hard.

"Fuck!' I choked out. He had struck me so hard that I fell out of the chair. I glared up at him, and he smiled at me sweetly. Smiling. He was always smiling.

"I swear, Sweets, just a few moments with me, and you revert back to normal!" He yanked me up by the front of my shirt, and pushed me back into the chair. The left side of my face burned, and I knew it would bruise. But I did not cry. Why give him that satisfaction. He resumed his pacing, but I felt satisfied when I saw it was with a limp.

"Normal is not the word I would use. Deranged, psychotic, those are closer. Whatever I am, madness applies."

"Spare me the fairy tales." He sighed happily, and sat on the desk again, hunching forward with his hands dangling between his legs. "Soon you'll be quoting Alice in Wonderland." he hissed, and I couldn't help but grin. I was learning to play his mind games, probably not helping my madness issue, but why not enjoy my time in Wonderland?

"What''s wrong, Alice? Did the caterpillar not share his joint with you?" I mocked, gingerly touching the side of my face. It wasn't that bad, I think I was mostly in shock that he had actually hit me. He glanced away, before mumbling.

"If we're in wonderland, I'm the mother fucking Jaberwocky." He pulled out his knife, and started to drive it into the table again. It amazed me how easily he lost focus on one topic, flicking to another without even realising it himself. It was like he had ADD, but I knew better. Someone with that calculating a mind could never be classified as insane. If someone looked, they could see the method in his madness. He looked back to me, grinned, and hopped off the desk again. Another factor of ADD: not being able to sit still. "I gotta say, Quinzy, I'm shocked that you aren't protesting your little dance. Always wanted to be fucked for money? Daddy issues? Let me play shrink for a minute." He hopped behind the desk, pulled out a pair of broken glasses and perched them on the end of his nose. He laced his fingers together, and rested his head on them, looking at me expectantly. I rolled my eyes in response.

"Maybe I'm hoping to get caught in the explosion." I sighed, and turned away to look out the window. The room had been soundproofed, so I couldn't hear any noise from people working the machines, but I knew better than to think that nothing was going on. There were always a million plans being carried out, inside his head. It was frightening, really, but I'd gotten over that years ago.

"Suicidal tendencies, negative view of the world..." He mumbled, miming writing down in a notebook. He only made it a few seconds before laughing at himself again. I rolled my eyes. He jumped up, serious again. "Don't you get boring on me, now." He threatened, and his knife was back in his hand. I looked at him steadily.

"Don't even bother threatening me. I've got nothing to lose, what's a few scars going to change?" I asked. He groaned.

"Why? WHY?" He yelled at me. The knife flew, and embedded itself in the floor by my feet. I didn't even flinch. I felt dead, and yearned for it too.

"Why what?" I asked innocently.

"Why the depression. You used to be fun! Stupid, unadulterated fun!" He stamped around the room, knocking a lamp to the floor and shattering it.

"Temper, temper..." I mumbled, and crossed my legs, preparing to wait it out. He didn't like that, and I felt him tip the chair backwards. I stood up before I fell, and turned to face him. He was seething.

"What do you want?" He asked quietly. I smiled sweetly.

"Now? Nothing. I wanted things before, but now I don't care." He moved towards me, and I backed up to sit on the edge of the table. I began to swing my legs like a child.

"Fine then, Sweets. Lets play. What did you want _before?_" he snarled, and moved in close. He grabbed my hair and yanked it back so that I was looking straight into his unforgiving gaze.

"Freedom." I stated simply. He grinned.

"You will never be free."

"Obviously. You won't let me go." That earned a short burst of laughter.

"Sweets, please, YOU won't let ME go." He let go of my hair, laughing as he walked away from me. "You are the one who came here, without being forced. You are the one who won't even protest when I give you a job. You have this wall-" He began gesturing with his hands, twitching randomly "-this wall all around you, as though you can keep my dear little Harley locked inside. It won't last. I can see her when I look in your eyes, and she want's to come out and play with Mr. J!" He launched into explosive laughter, and as he doubled over in convulsions, something in me snapped. I got up, and wandered to where he'd thrown his knife at my feet. Plucking it out of the ground, I wheeled around and grabbed the back of his head by his greasy green hair. I ripped it downwards, and he fell to the floor with a solid thump. I jumped on top of him and pressed my knees into his shoulders, knife to his throat. I was shaking, and he was still laughing.

"Shut up." I whispered, and I was surprised when he actually made an effort to silence his spasms.

"There she is, my special honey Harley..." he whispered back.

"I said shut UP!" I screamed, and I rammed to knife down next to his head. He didn't even flinch. Instead he closed his eyes, a small smile on his face. He was relaxed.

"What are you thinking, Harls?" He asked. His shoulders were pinned down by my legs, but his arms we free. The started to snake around the backs of my legs, familiarising themselves. I wrenched the knife out of the wooden floor, and looked at the blade instead of his face.

"I'm going to kill you." I stated simply. I could feel him vibrate underneath me as he chuckled.

"Funny, Sweets. If you were going to do that, you wouldn't be hesitating." He opened his eyes, and grinned at me. "You wouldn't upset the natural order of things, now would you? Because that's what killing is, and as we both know, it causes chaos." His nails suddenly raked down from the base of my knees to the tips of my ankles, and I hissed in the slight pain. That would leave a mark. "I'm an agent of chaos, and you may help out sometimes, but you wouldn't go so far as to get rid of me. We have FAR too much fun together!" He started to laugh again, and I glared. Trying to intimidate him would get me no where. Action was the only way to go.

I held the knife just above his chest, were his heart was, and slowly began to push the knife down, tip first. He stopped laughing, and adopted that lazy grin I used to pine for. His lids fell closed, leaving black holes. Yellow teeth peeked beneath moist red lips, and scar tissue ran red and white.

"Mark me." He said simply. "Do what no one else has done, and scar the Joker." and he became completely still. I looked at the mess underneath me, and tried to imagine what lay beneath the theatre make up. He looked peaceful, almost, at the thought of a knife slicing into his skin. I thought of something.

"Tell me how you got your scars." I ordered, and I unbuttoned the top the buttons on his shirt. I let the knife drag lazily across his neck, where the make up ended and pale skin began. From what I could see, his chest was bare of imperfection, no scars or bruises. This would be my own mark, set apart form others. My scar.

He opened his eyes, and grinned at me lazily. I balanced knife over his heart, and ever so lightly stroked downwards. He hissed, but it was in delight, not pain. Blood welled around the tip of the knife, and I loved the way the flesh gave underneath the blade. Twice more I cut into his skin, just hard enough so that it would scar. The capital 'H' looked perfect on his white skin. Blood dripped from the entry wounds, and I dipped my finger in a small drop. With his eyes on me, I raised the droplet to my lips, and licked it from my finger with the tip of my tongue.

"You know how I got them, Harley..." And he moaned as I liked my lips, which were now slightly tinged red. I pressed down over the wound I had made, and he breathed in sharply.

"Say it, or my next mark won't be so pretty!" I barked, and he chuckled darkly. He squirmed, and I let him free his arms and shoulders, my knees falling beside his ribs instead. He grabbed my hands and pushed harder over his heart.

"I made them myself."


	4. Chapter 4

We lay there for a while, myself on top of the Joker. I was loosing myself, and I knew it. Our hands remained interlocked over his heart, which had stopped bleeding. He was the only thing I could see, and suddenly I knew what people meant when they said that the eyes were the window to the soul. I could see into his soul, his mind, and I knew there was nothing insane about this man. He was crazed, and yet he wasn't. He was determined to get what he wanted, and yet I couldn't figure out what that was. He stared back with equal intensity, but I hardly noticed. I was too busy trying to unravel his mind, forever the psychologist.

I broke away, and noticed the pain in my knees from kneeling for so long. I ripped my hands out from underneath his, taking most of the scab from his wound with me. I shivered, repulsed to have his blood on my hands. I scrambled up, and he stayed on the floor, looking at the space where my head had been before. I looked back as I reached the door.

"I can't tell if you're crazy or not." I whispered. It sounded loud and harsh in the silence. He looked at me then, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"Yes you can." He whispered back, and resumed staring at the ceiling, smiling to himself again. I nodded to myself, and left.

I don't know why I had taken him up on his opportunity to give him a scar. It seemed fitting at the time. He had played with my heart and twisted it, shattered it along with my sanity. There was no way I could touch his sanity now, so making my own mark over his heart seemed the only way to go. Forever more, he would have my mark over his heart, just as I would have his marks over mine. His blood had been the seal of the deal. He had drawn mine multiple times, so now his was running though my system in it's place. It was all about balance.

I had reached home by now, one of the thugs from the factory gave me a ride. I didn't even have to threaten him to do it, so word must be spreading that the Harley of old was back. I shivered at that thought. She would never come back, I promised myself. I knew too much to sink that far into insanity again.

I dumped my duffel bag on my bed, and took out my harlequin costume. I wouldn't be able to wear this again, I knew that much. It was too well known, and if there was any chance of me coming back from this, I would be known instantly. I picked up the stressed leather and placed it in the back of my wardrobe, tucking it away out of place and out of sight.

I pulled out the other garments that Joker had given me, and laid them out on my bare mattress. I still hadn't had a chance to go shopping, apart from the occasional grocery run, so I was thankful that my building had heating included in rent.

The brunette wig, thigh high fishnets and green and purple corset stared back at me. Black underwear completed the outfit, along with dark green stiletto heels. I grimaced - true to the theme until the end. The small red clown's nose blinked at me happily.

I had lost my sense of time while I was with the Joker. What I thought had been a couple of hours had turned into an entire night. I was thankful my stomach hadn't growled during our stare off, that wouldn't have played to my favour.

I looked at my watch, and saw that it was almost 5:30 pm. A goon would be picking me up at 6, whether I was ready or not. Time to play dress up, I told myself, and began to pull on my newly acquired stripper clothes.

I adjusted the wig in the mirror, and even I couldn't recognise myself. It was just as well these guys weren't looking at my face - I didn't suit dark hair. I was too pale for it. However, there was enough of my skin on show that I didn't think my face would be a problem. I added dark eye make up and trashy red lips to complete the illusion, and the striper was ready. I looked in the mirror, and was disgusted. What had I become?

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, so I threw on a long coat over the mess called Circus Trix, Trixy by her friends/well paying clients. I opened the door, and the thug grabbed my arm and yanked me down the stairs. He didn't even glance my way, so there was some good news.

I slipped the red nose into the only place I could - the space in between my cleavage in the corset. I groaned inwardly. How degrading.

We drove into Gotham, and I watched the street lights beginning to flash into existence. The Sun had completely set now, the sky a lovely shade of blue. Well, it looked lovely when you could glimpse it through the tall sky scrapers that seemed to populate every inch of this goddamn city.

A few turns through some alley ways and shady parking spot, and we arrived. Jumping out of the car, a hand on my shoulder guided me towards what looked like an old sports bar. Typical mob. Inconspicuous, yet predictable and predominantly male.

Two men in suits were waiting for me at the door, with a grunt and a nod at the thug who had a firm hold of my shoulder, I was released, and take inside. It was dark, and as dirty as I'd known it would be. I was dumped in the kitchen, which had been turned into a temporary dressing room. 5 other women were there, primping and preening in the reflective surfaces of the counter. I almost snorted when I realised that they were all blonde. So I was going to stand out tonight. Lovely.

I smiled at one of the girls when she looked at me to check me out. She sneered, and turned away, and I couldn't help but laugh out loud. She turned back around and glared, but I could only laugh at the fact that apparently strippers are allowed to judge.

Little-Miss-Priss was about to say something, but music started to play outside, and a man at the door nodded at us. Guessing that that was our cue to move it, it occurred to me that I had absolutely no idea how to be a stripper. Well fuck. Maybe Little-Miss-Priss DID have a right to judge me. I probably had newbie written all over my face.

Slightly panicking, I barely noticed when the thug started to run us through who we'd be paying attention to.

W lined up, ready to exit, and I thanked the Lord that I was at the back. The heels I was wearing had begun to make the balls of my feet burn, and I shifted from side to side uncomfortably. The girls started to move in front of me, the music low and sensual. One by one, they walked over to the waiting mob member. It was as simple as swaying your hips, biting your lip and winking. I stepped out, and started to slowly move my way over to Maroni. He looked happy, but his eyes weren't on my face. A mental eye roll on my side, and I was standing in front of him. The other girls were trailing their fingers through their guy's hair, and over his chest. I walked around behind the back of his chair, and slowly dragged my fingers through his hair, down his shoulders, and lightly removed his jacket. Walking back around to face him, I made a go of pawing at my chest, so as to discreetly grab the bomb from it's place. Not exactly easy with his eyes following my hands every move. The other girls were starting to sit down on the men's laps now, so I took the opportunity to straddle Maroni. He looked like the happiest man alive, and I remembered that he had a wife. I grinned. Why not have some fun with this? I thought.

"So..." I trailed my hand down the side of his face and continued it down his chest. "What's a big time guy doing with a girl like me?" I took my hands off of him, and trailed them down my physique, ending at the tops of my thighs. He swallowed, before muttering to my boobs.

"It's my birthday, and you're the gift." I smiled, and leant in close, rubbing his hips as I did so. The ball just fit without being too obvious a bulge. Mission accomplished, but the game wasn't over.

"Funny, she said the same thing..." I mused, and started to push my breasts into his chest. "What?"He sounded confused, but didn't push me away. I leant back, and hopped off of his lap. I started to wiggle my way around his chair again.

"A client of mine. You know her, but I couldn't possible give her name up. Client confidentiality and all that." I giggled, and started to suggestively undo one of the ribbons on the corset. It didn't unbuckle, but it got his attention.

"Aww, come on Trixy..." He purred. I began waving the ribbon in front of him as though he were a kitten. Take the bait, I instructed silently. "You can tell me, what would I do with that kind of info?" Whether sex was involved or not, if there was dirt on others involved, the mob wanted in. I tapped my lip, pretending to ponder my answer. With a smile, I hopped back on his lap.

"Well, considering things, I guess you kind of have a right to know." I started to undo the buttons on his shirt, letting my finger thread through the slight hair on his chest. I inwardly shuddered. Not my thing, all this hair.

Maroni looked confused.

"A right to know?"

"Yeah, well, what with you being involved and all..." I grabbed his chest as though he had breasts, and whispered in his ear. "Mrs Maroni _loved_ it when I did that that." Because I was expecting it, when he threw me backwards, I managed to land on my feet. My ankle twisted slightly from the heels, but I didn't mind. The landing had stuck well enough for my tastes.

Maroni was glowering, and he stomped toward me. "The fuck did you say about my wife?" His hand would have snapped for one of his thugs to pull a gun on me, but a gloved hand closed around his wrist.

"Ah-ta-ta-ta..." A slow chuckle, and the Joker yanked his hand downwards. Maroni's wrist cracked, and he let out a squeak. I couldn't help but smile. I looked around, and saw the hired goons on the floor, dead. I looked back to Joker, and he was yanking Maroni towards a chair. The other members were all silent.

"I thought silent kills weren't your thing?" I asked him, and he snorted.

"Get outside, we're leaving. Times up." With that, duct tape in hand, he began strapping Maroni to the chair. I didn't move, and he didn't care. I was ignored, as each member was strapped in place, no chance of escape. Once each one was gagged, apart from Maroni, Joker swaggered his way over, and placed the barrel of his gun on the man's knee cap.

"Listen, Sally..." he began, while bead of sweat ran down the mob bosses head. "I have a little dill-em-a..." Joker dragged the word out, playing with it in his mouth. Maroni swallowed. "You see, funds are tight, what with the economy going to shit and all, and while I personally don't care about money, I do need certain funds to keep my business secret and all that... SO!" And with that, he brought the butt of his gun down on Maroni's knee. The man cried out in pain as the sound of the sickening snap reverberated around the room. Maroni wouldn't be walking out of this one. I couldn't help but laugh. I used to love watching Joker work, and I guess that that was one sick quality that hadn't left.

A quick backhand to the face, and Maroni stopped whimpering. "Codes." Was all Joker said, and Maroni quickly rattled off a series of seemingly random numbers. With a snap of Joker's fingers, a man walked out of the shadows, PDA in hand. Silently, he tapped in the code, and with a nod at Joker, pocketed the device, and turned around. Without a thought, Joker turned the gun on him and fired a round in the back of his skull, before turning back to face Maroni. "Pleasure doing business with you, Sal." He smirked, before slapping the man on the back of the head, and raising the duct tape again. Once gagged, Joker turned, and noticed me. He glared. "I thought I told you to leave." I smiled innocently.

"Aw, but you know how much I love to watch you work, J..." I purred, before kicking off the green heels, picking them up and turning for the door. Unsurprisingly, his fist was in my hair and dragging my head back at an unnatural angle. I smiled through the spikes of pain shooting through my scalp.

"I'm starting to think I should have left you in Arkham." He mused, before pulling me by the hair towards the door. It was then that I noticed that it was barred. By a dark shadow, no less. Well shit.

"J..." I whispered, and he dropped my hair. He simply stood there, and a slow grin spread over his face.

"Well hello, Bats." He snorted, and before I even saw his hand move, he was firing rounds into the space where the Bat had been. The gun clicked, signalling it was empty, and then I was flying across to the other side of the room. The Bat had shoved me out of the way, and I crashed into the side of a table. I hissed in pain, the wood digging into my hip. Blinded by pain, I sat on the floor, waiting for my vision to clear. Blinking rapidly, I looked over to see the Bat trying to get a hold of Joker, but it was no use. The man was too wiry and nimble to be held down. it was like a dance, almost, one where J was leading, and Bats hadn't practised his moves. So intent was the Bat on Joker, that he didn't see me slide up behind him, silently with one of the folding chairs stacked against the wall. J, on the other hand, smiled, and manoeuvred himself so that the Bat had his back to me completely.

Time seemed to slow down as I lifted the chair above my head, and it felt like I was moving through gelatine as I brought it down on Bat's head. Time returned to normal as the huge man crashed to the floor, rolling onto his back. I backed away, dropping the chair to the floor, the corner slightly dented. I had to bring my hands to my face, because I suddenly had to fight the bizarre urge to laugh. I had just knocked a man out cold, and I enjoyed it. Jesus Christ, this was not good.

J winked at me, and was about to start kicking Bats in the face, when sirens could be heard in the business. He sighed, disappointed, and turned towards the door. Thankfully it was unlocked, but I was still staring at the Bat on the floor. Joker turned around to look at me expectantly, and sighed when he saw I wasn't moving. Briskly walking over, he threw me over his shoulder roughly, and as my stomach hit his shoulder, the laughter bubbled out. It rose in crescendo until I was screaming with laughter, tears rolling down my face. I was thrown roughly in the back of the waiting van, and barely registered the gun shot as the driver was dealt with. Joker jumped in the front seat, and my stomach lurched as we screamed out of the parking lot. As my laughter quieted down into small gasps, I looked in the mirror at the hysterical woman. Her wig was gone, her mascara had run down her face, and her red lipstick was smeared all over her face. She was madly grinning, and I raised a hand to touch the smile. She was crazy and she was mad. The smile dropped from her face, and I turned my eyes away from the ghastly picture in the mirror. The Joker had begun to drive like a normal person so as to not draw attention, and I realised that he probably wouldn't be here right now if I hadn't wrapped a chair around Bat's head.

Oh my God.

I'd saved the fucker who'd broken me.

What is wrong with me?


End file.
